


Buds and Reds

by feelmetalfangirl (DiAmbrogio)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiAmbrogio/pseuds/feelmetalfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For I'mRoyMustang</p>
<p>From his mother to this boy, the color red has had such a revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buds and Reds

His mother had been a flower. As delicate as a cosmos, as beautiful as a bloomed rose- he could endlessly compare her to the plants that she had loved. Her profession was that of a botanist and he learned his letters from her books. Those simple days when he ran his chubby fingers over the book compressed orchids seem so far away now.

Her hair had been so utterly red, as if a Flame Lily had bled into the roots. With her red was a wonderful thing. It had meant gentle hands and loving words. At times, it meant blood on her hands, those bruises that always took so long to congeal, and the medication that danced down her throat when a migraine wrapped its hands around her mind.

But the happiness turned such things to dust. Withered it like a chrysanthemum to the frost.

He had been reading aloud one day, his mother teaching him to read, when the book spoke of alchemy. How wonderful it was, how horrible it could be. Though it was a fantasy story with a plot he cannot even recall, the impact of it still stays with him. It reminds him of his naivete.

She encouraged him and bought him basic books, learning as he did. They made a game of the Periodic Table, adding childish songs to it to remember the elements. One would finish for the other, it became a game.

His red mother died when they were up to seventy six. He had just started to question the world beyond her. Why was the sky blue? Why was her hair red and his black? Why did people get sick?

Her body burnt until there was only a pork stench left. Her hair shorn in some escape attempt only to be tossed everywhere. The strands stained the ground, stuck themselves in the window panes, and clung to the officers clothing as if trying to live. Somehow, he was able to find a complete section and hid it in a locket.

They told him they could not do anything and for the first time he learned hate. Ugly news dressed like a beautiful whore.

Red meant a candle suddenly going out. The taste of anger on his tongue. His mother turned to dust.

-

His aunt was his next of kin. She was a boisterous dinner plate dahlia with the personality of a snapdragon. Chris Mustang was loud and demanding whereas his mother had been soft and subtle. She and him were like fire and ice.

Purple had been her color. The love of his aunt was different than that of his mother. He had not expected any less, for they were two very different people. Any attempt to recreate what was before would simply be an utter disgrace. However, in his unwilling desire to let go of the ghost, they clashed.

Her hands were methodical as she polished the silver locket, reprimanding him for letting such a precious thing tarnish. That had been the icebreaker. Finally, he cried. His heart emptying like a drain.

-

When he joins the army, he thinks he can change something. His mother is left with his aunt, safe in a jewelry box. At times, the small remnant dammed him. In other moments, it gave him courage. In their last moments of contact, it gave him the will to finally move on. He would trudge forward and change the world.

Hughes is Ivy, growing everywhere and demanding attention. Green as his eyes. Jealousy is born in his heart, a small thing he hides away from the world. He wishes he could speak so freely.

Red comes to life again when those asinine classmates start beating up the Ishvalan,. Jumping from its slumber, it demands him to look into the victim's eyes. The color runs over the walls and sticks to them in jagged angles, whirling in the breeze.

A fight ensues. Hughes comes to help. And Roy winds up mourning ever so quietly.

The Flame Lily which once meant joy and love now meant squabble and death. He could look to the setting sun and try to convince himself of the other meanings. Red could mean new beginnings, a withered red rose snipped for a new bud. He lies to himself over and over.

-

When the war comes, he smells the burning flesh yet again. He’s a murderer entirely proficient in the way on fire. He can tell how high a flame needs to be to burn a human to death or to knick them just for torture. On sight, the circumstances lay themselves out ever so cleanly.

The screams can devolve into something he’s only had nightmares of, female and high. Red ruby eyes accuse him over and over. Superiors laugh and pat his back.

‘I had no choice.’ he consoles himself

But his conscience gives him a sloppy bouquet of orange mock, larkspur, and nettle. How horrendous it is, half dead. Like some undead monstrosity it whispers in the accent of Ishbal.

-

Riza knows nothing. Not a word of his past left his lips even after he burned her back and decided to use the fire for good. How perverse it all seems now.

Colonvolus Major.

Daisy and dahlia and dog dose. All of the things that describe her are short and to the point. She treats the bouquets with a slight upturn of the lips. She knows his flower obsession and he tells her that it simply helps with the romance. The flowers are ordered more often than not. Always, the arrangements are messy to the point of needing a total redoing. Inexcusable.

But he bites his tongue so he does not murder anyone.

-

He’s promoted and he’s growing. Now, he no longer sees the faces or hears the screams. Roy pushes them into the back of his mind and trudges forward as best he can. However, they are like weights holding him while he can only walk through mud.

Slowly. Inch by inch.

And she only comes when a headache so akin to the ones he remembers decides to grace him. Her hand rests on his head and it is so, so cold. Put on a bright smile and order. Command as she leans on the back of his seat, whispering.

There is no more fire, only ice. No more sight of burning flesh, just shadows holding a likeness.

And when he finds they boys Elric after their act- their sin- she’s laughing brightly. The sound makes him grab the younger and hurl accusations. 

“Roy, my baby, he’s just like you!”

-

And he spends the next years proving everything wrong to the best of his ability. The Elric brothers are not flowers, but weeds that grow and inch everywhere.

He's using them, that’s what he tells Riza.

-

After Edward Elric’s certification, red comes to mean stubborness and philosopher stones. It means understanding and squabbles. 

Gabera and red carnations. 

Alphonse is a sunflower, ever reaching towards the sunlight. Patience and warm smiles.

And slowly, oh so slowly, something grows in his chest. A feeling towards the elder Elric boy. His mother bows under it. It makes her fall into a happy rest.

He lies about Hughes and it hurts.

He fabricates the murder of Maria Ross and his heart suffers. It’s an agonizing thing, but he gives up what little trust Edward has in him for the farce.

Really, when did one boisterious boy’s opinion come to mean so much?

He doesn’t know what’s going on. He isn’t sure if it should continue-Roy wonders if he should kill that warmth. Rip the bud from the stem before it can even bloom.

For some reason, he can’t do it. It’s funny, he can’t rip up a feeling that he has no idea over?

Roy leaves it be because he has no idea of what to do with it. 

And slowly, it blooms.

Red comes to mean rebirth. It comes to once again mean love and new days. So many wonderful things.

And he's forever grateful.


End file.
